


Holidays in the South Downs

by TurnipTitaness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexuality Spectrum, Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Ballet, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gray-Asexuality, Holidays, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mistletoe, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), References to The Nutcracker, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 15,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnipTitaness/pseuds/TurnipTitaness
Summary: After stopping the apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley have retired to a little cottage in the South Downs. This is their first holiday season together. It's fluffy.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 110





	1. Mistletoe Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of ficlets/vignettes for drawlight's holiday challenge. Hopefully, there will be 31 chapters by the time I am finished.

Crowley wandered out to the front room of their little cottage in the South Downs, yawning as he wrapped his hands around his mug of steaming hot coffee. He blinked up at Aziraphale, who was standing in the doorway on the library chair they’d brought with them from the bookshop in Soho.

“Wossat?”

Aziraphale looked down at him, hands still busily fluffing the bright red tartan bow that suspended a puff of greenery above the door.

“That, my dear,” he said with a smile, “is mistletoe.”

Crowley, forgetting that his coffee was still too hot to drink, took a sip. It scalded his mouth, but he didn’t want to spit it out in front of the angel, so he swallowed it quickly. Another mistake.

“Yeah?” he gasped, eyes watering. He leaned against the couch, striving for a casual air.

“It’s a human holiday tradition,” Aziraphale explained, flipping the stepladder back into its chair form and replacing it in its usual spot against the wall. An amused gleam in his eye showed that he was aware of Crowley’s struggle, but he pretended to ignore it. “It has symbolism in many ancient cultures,” he continued. “It represented peace in Rome. Enemies in wartime used to reconcile their differences under it.” He threw a smile over his shoulder to Crowley, who grinned back.

“How appropriate.” He came forward until he was standing next to Aziraphale in the entryway and looked up at the mistletoe. There were clusters of tiny white berries peeking out from among the leaves.

“I rather thought so,” the angel agreed. “The druids were the first to decorate with it, I believe. They thought it would provide protection from nightmares.”

“Good old druids,” Crowley said fondly. “Always liked them. So they started the whole holiday tradition, then? Decorating with mistletoe, and all that?” He took another careful sip of his coffee.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale nodded. “Although I believe the tradition of kissing under it started with the Greeks.”

Crowley choked and coughed, his eyes going wide and bright gold. “K-kissing?” He spluttered. “What?”

Aziraphale gazed at him calmly. “Why yes, dear. That’s one tradition that has survived the test of time. Around the holidays, if people walk under a bit of mistletoe, they get a kiss.”

“You, you mean to tell me,” Crowley wheezed, setting down his coffee mug, “that every time we go in or out that door…”

“Or even if we’re just standing in the entryway,” Aziraphale nodded. His eyes twinkled as he turned toward Crowley and reached for his hands.

“Or even… just… standing,” Crowley repeated, as Aziraphale drew slowly closer. “Just standing… Ngh… Then we… we…”

“Kiss,” Aziraphale finished for him. “Just like this.”


	2. Snow Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after the first snowfall of the season, and all is quiet... but what the heaven is Crowley doing?

The first snow had fallen overnight. Well, not the first snow, Aziraphale corrected himself. That one had caused quite a bit of consternation, he remembered, because no one had really been prepared.

Still, this was the first snowfall since they had moved to the South Downs, and Aziraphale knew he would always treasure it.

He looked out the kitchen window with a smile. The trees and hedges were topped with white, like fluffy frosted cupcakes, and the sky above was a clear, brilliant ice-blue. The birds and small, scurrying garden creatures had all taken refuge in the woods, and everything was perfectly still.

Everything, that is, except for one demon. Crowley was sprawled in the snow, his long, lanky limbs splayed out and flailing. Aziraphale frowned, his curiosity piqued. He hurried to the door and put on his overcoat, then went outside, pulling on a baby blue knitted hat and mittens as he went.

“My dear Crowley,” he called. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Just a little game I invented,” Crowley grunted. He was shaking his head back and forth vigorously. “Well, more like discovered, really. Fell off a horse. Centuries ago, now. Taught it to some local kids. Thought it might make their mothers furious, their kids getting snow everywhere and tracking it indoors.”

Aziraphale tilted his head to one side as he watched this peculiar spectacle. “And did it?”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged as well as he could in his horizontal position. “They didn’t seem to mind it on the whole, actually. Still, can’t be a demonic genius every day. Get exhausted, after a while.”

He heaved himself carefully upright and stepped back, gesturing proudly. “Look, angel. It’s you!”

Aziraphale stared at the impression Crowley had created in the snow, with its long robes and wide, wing-like appendages swooping out to the sides. “Oh my goodness,” he breathed. “A snow angel.”

He looked up at Crowley, who was now beaming with delight, bits of snow still clinging to his hair and clothing. He felt strangely touched. The demon had taught children this game; had ensured that for centuries there had been little portraits of him created in the snow. And he had tried to frame it as a temptation.

Aziraphale wanted to throw his arms around his friend, but knowing how easily embarrassed Crowley was, he refrained. Instead, he pursed his lips.

“Really, Crowley,” he said fussily. “This doesn’t look like me at all. It’s far too tall and gangling.”

Crowley threw his head back and stared down at his handiwork. “Rubbish,” he protested. “Looks exactly like you did when I first spotted you on that wall.”

“In the garden.” Aziraphale smiled at the memory. “So long ago.” He paused, thinking, and then added, “But if this is supposed to represent that day, there’s something missing.”

He suddenly threw himself down in the snow and began thrashing about in an imitation of Crowley’s movements. The demon’s eyebrows flew up in astonishment, but then a grin crept across his face.

“Right then,” Aziraphale puffed, slightly out of breath. “Help me up.”

Crowley pulled the angel to his feet and they stood side by side, one mittened hand still holding one cold one.

“There we both are,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded slowly. “There we both are.”


	3. After the Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. I shocked myself. Crowley was so determined to make this date perfect for his angel that he wouldn't let me write anything else.

The lights came up in the Royal Opera House, and the audience began to rise. Aziraphale remained seated, his eyes full of stars. "Well, that was magnificent," he sighed ecstatically.

Beside him, Crowley shook his head incredulously. "All these years living in London, and you've never been to see The Nutcracker before?"

"It didn't really seem to be the sort of thing one did alone," Aziraphale defended himself. "Holiday festivities feel like they ought to be shared." He glanced sideways at Crowley in a slightly apologetic manner. "You weren't too awfully bored by it, I hope?"

"No, not at all," Crowley lied gallantly. "I quite liked the bit with the rats."

Aziraphale smiled fondly at him as they left their seats. "Yes, that was exciting, wasn't it? I wonder if I could find a recording of the score for my gramophone?"

They emerged into the lobby and attempted to blend into the crowd, although this endeavor was not met with much success. Aziraphale was wearing his usual old-fashioned attire, but Crowley had made a bit of an effort in honor of the occasion. He was wearing a velvet blazer over a black button-up shirt, leather trousers, and a slightly more formal pair of snakeskin shoes than usual. The two of them attracted quite a few stares.

Aziraphale seemed oblivious to all the attention as he gazed around him, taking in the general splendor of the room, but Crowley soon grew restive.

"So, what next, angel?" he asked. "Big night on the town; where do you want to go?"

Aziraphale thought for a moment. "Do you know, Crowley," he said at last, "I think I'd like to go for a walk. Just to see all the sights. Would you mind that?"

"Of course not." Crowley gestured expansively. "Whatever you'd like."

They wandered down the street together, looking at all the holiday displays.

"I do think," Aziraphale said after a while, "that London at Christmas is the most magical place in the world."

As if on cue, a few flakes of snow began to fall from the night sky. Aziraphale looked up and laughed delightedly. "Oh, look!" He exclaimed. "They're dancing!" He began humming a few bars of the Waltz of the Snowflakes.

Crowley watched him for a moment, smiling, and then suddenly swept him into his arms and waltzed him along the pavement. Aziraphale gasped in surprise, but recovered quickly and began to hum again. They danced down the street until they were both dizzy and out of breath. They stopped, clinging to each other and laughing.

Across the street, a few spectators clapped. "That was wonderful," a woman called.

Crowley waved to her cheerfully and Aziraphale bowed. "You know, it was, rather," the angel observed as they continued walking. "I didn't know you could waltz."

"Picked it up a couple of centuries ago," Crowley said with a shrug. "Figured it might be useful someday."

A slight breeze blew up, and Aziraphale shivered. Crowley grabbed his hand and tucked it under his arm, pulling him close. "The Bentley's just around the corner," he said. "So what do you think, angel? Home?"

Aziraphale's face grew bright with joy. "Home," he echoed.


	4. Kiss it Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is an idiot. But we already knew that, didn't we?
> 
> If you're super sensitive to needles/blood, there's two sewing needles and one drop of blood.   
> Idk, thought I'd let you know. ;)

An angel and a demon sat on the couch, threading cranberries onto strings.

Well, the angel sat, anyway. In the hour they had been working, the demon had tried just about every possible posture, and a few which really shouldn’t have been possible. For now, he seemed to have settled on lying with his head in the angel’s lap, one long leg thrown across the back of the couch and the other one dangling off onto the floor.

“Ow,” Crowley grumbled for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

Aziraphale adjusted his lengthening rope of bright red berries across the arm of the couch so they wouldn’t fall in Crowley’s face. “You really ought to be more careful, Crowley,” he admonished. “All this requires is a little concentration.”

“I am concentrating,” the demon snapped. “This needle is out to get me. If you ask me, it’s probably in the pay of your boss.”

“Ex-boss,” Aziraphale reminded him. “We’re both retired now, remember?”

“Your string is twice as long as mine,” Crowley observed jealously.

“That’s probably because I’m concentrating on the task instead of fidgeting all over the place.”

Crowley ignored him. “Why do we have to do it like this, anyhow? If you want to decorate, just miracle something up.”

“I may be retired,” Aziraphale said, “but I still don’t want to go around performing frivolous miracles. It might attract the exact sort of attention we’re trying to avoid. Besides, it’s more fun this way.”

“Ouch,” Crowley muttered again. “You have a very different idea of fun than I do. I’ve been stabbed in every single finger. Twice.”

He examined his injured hand carefully, then waggled it in Aziraphale’s face. “Look, I’m bleeding.”

Aziraphale peered through his spectacles at Crowley’s hand. There was a tiny drop of blood on the tip of his index finger.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said in mock sympathy. “You must be suffering terribly.”

Crowley glared at him. “It hurts.”

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“How’s that supposed to fix anything?” Crowley asked grumpily, but he left his hand sticking up in Aziraphale’s face.

The angel set down his needle and thread and took Crowley’s hand in his. Slowly, he pressed his lips against Crowley’s index finger. The blood disappeared. He kissed each finger in turn, and a warm, tingling sensation filled the demon’s hand.

Crowley peered up at him suspiciously. “Thought you said you didn’t want to perform any more frivolous miracles?”

Aziraphale smiled down at him. “Well, miracles aren’t frivolous if they’re for you, dear.”

Crowley blinked, embarrassed, and then went silently back to work. The tips of his ears were decidedly red, Aziraphale noticed with another smile.

They strung their cranberries in silence for a while, but then Crowley scowled again. “Ouch!”

Aziraphale laid his needle down again patiently. “What is it this time?”

“Don’t know how it happened,” Crowley mumbled, avoiding the angel’s gaze. “Managed to poke myself in the lip this time. Very painful.”

Aziraphale laughed outright. “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”


	5. Memories of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some angst! Well, sort of. It's Christmas, so it's still fluffy. But it might not give you diabetes this time.
> 
> Our lovely Ineffable Husbands are sitting by the fire on a winter evening, but the flames are stirring up old memories for Crowley.

Aziraphale sat in his armchair by the fire while Crowley lounged on the floor beside him, leaning his back against the chair. The fire was crackling merrily, throwing warm light against the strings of cranberries that draped along the mantlepiece. Aziraphale reflected that this was as perfect an evening as he could ever wish for.

However, just as he was about to say as much, Crowley leaned his head back against the arm of the chair, and Aziraphale saw that his face was tense and shadowed.

“Crowley, my dear, what is it?” he said, leaning forward slightly.

Crowley flinched, startled by the sound, and then sighed. “It’s the fire,” he mumbled. “’S bringing up memories.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank. “Memories of… of the fall?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, that.” Crowley laughed mirthlessly. “I hardly ever think of that any more. No, more recent than that.”

“Tell me,” Aziraphale prompted him gently.

Crowley was silent for a moment, and then took a deep breath. “There was that day in your bookshop, for starters.” He tried to keep his voice gruff, but it wobbled slightly as he continued. “Really thought I’d lost you, that time.”

“But you hadn’t,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Of course you hadn’t.” After a pause, he added, “I’ve never asked you… Why did you come back? After the way I treated you, why didn’t you just go to Alpha Centauri like you said you would?”

Crowley shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been any point, would there? Not if you weren’t there too. Wanted to give it one last try.”

Aziraphale’s throat swelled with love and tears, and he swallowed hard. He learned more about forgiveness in one day with this demon than he had in centuries with Heaven. “You know,” he managed to say, “I believe that day was when I truly chose my side. When I chose this world, and you, over what I’d always been told was right. So it should be a good memory, really.”

“Mmm.” Crowley smiled slightly, but his face remained shadowed.

“Is there something else it reminds you of?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hesitated. “Hellfire,” he said finally. “Later, up in Heaven, when they thought I was you.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, that was a bit frightening, that day. There were so many ways it could have gone wrong. But it didn’t, you know. We fooled them, Heaven and Hell both. We got them to leave us alone. So in a way, that ought to be the best memory of all.”

He giggled suddenly. “I wish you could have seen Hell’s faces, I really do. And Michael’s when I asked for that duck.”

Crowley thought of Heaven’s faces as they had looked at him that day; of the sadistic pleasure with which Gabriel had sent him into the fire. His jaw clenched and he curled his fists, rage boiling up in him again at the memory of how they had treated the creature they thought was Aziraphale. His Aziraphale, his bright, beautiful angel, who deserved every good thing this universe had to offer. They had treated him like he was nothing, like he was dirt beneath their shoes.

He knew he would never tell Aziraphale that part of the story, wouldn’t destroy the last of Aziraphale’s illusions; that there was still some good left in the system God had tried to create. That Heaven wasn’t, in its own way, just as fallen as Hell.

Aziraphale reached out and stroked Crowley’s hair, combing his fingers through bright red locks, longer now than they had been in years. “We can put the fire out, if you like,” he offered. “I don’t mind, if it upsets you.”

Crowley stirred and stretched. “’S all right, angel. Leave it.” He settled back, resting against Aziraphale’s legs. “I’d rather build new memories of the fire here. With you.”


	6. Sleigh Bells Don't Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't upset Aziraphale when Crowley is around. You just don't.

Crowley and Aziraphale scuffed down the lane through the snow, heading home after a short ramble through the village. As they reached their front gate, their next-door neighbor opened her front door to pick up her newspaper. A string of sleigh bells hanging from the doorknob jingled merrily, the sound sharp in the crisp morning air. 

Crowley gave the woman a cheerful wave, but turned to Aziraphale with a frown when he felt the angel’s hand get suddenly tense in his own. “What is it?”

Aziraphale was looking around nervously, his round blue eyes even wider than usual. At the sound of Crowley’s voice, he jumped, and then smiled somewhat shamefacedly. “Oh, oh, it’s nothing, Crowley,” he said. “It’s just... Well, those sleigh bells sound the way Gabriel always does when he arrives unexpectedly. Ridiculous of me to be startled, I know. Why on earth would Gabriel come here?”

“No reason at all,” Crowley said, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand reassuringly as he opened the door. “Not ridiculous to be startled, though. I don’t much care for the sound of flies, myself.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. “I suppose not. Only there are so many of them. It seems as though half the village has them hanging from their doors. But I’m sure I’ll get used to them eventually.”

Aziraphale settled down in the living room with a book, but Crowley stayed by the front window for a while, glaring out into the white landscape. How dare those humans upset his angel like this, with their stupid, noisy decorations? Those thoughtless, selfish, inconsiderate... His thoughts tumbled into an incoherent mass of seething resentment. Something would have to be done about this.

...

Later that afternoon, Aziraphale called out of the kitchen, “Crowley, dear? We’re all out of tea. I’m just going to pop out to the shop and get some more.”

Crowley scrambled to his feet from where he’d been lounging on the couch, staring intimidatingly at one of his plants. “Wait a minute, angel! I’m coming with you.”

“Oh! Very well, then.” Aziraphale sounded surprised, but pleased. 

As they stepped out the front door together, Aziraphale glanced at their neighbor’s house and blinked in surprise. “Why, that’s very odd. Mrs. Johnson has taken down her sleigh bells.”

“Well, can’t say I blame her,” Crowley said casually. “I mean, who wants their door jingling at them every time they open it? Be like living inside a shop.”

“Which I did for two-hundred and fifty years,” Aziraphale reminded him with a chuckle.

They walked past several more houses, and then Aziraphale stopped dead.

“What now?” Crowley said, sighing. 

“I’m sure that house had sleigh bells hanging from the door this morning,” Aziraphale said, his brow wrinkled with confusion.

“Really?” Crowley stared at the house, eyebrows raised. “I don’t remember it.”

“At least I... I thought so,” Aziraphale stammered. “But perhaps it was another house.”

They moved on, but a few minutes later Aziraphale stopped again. “Now, there’s no mistake this time,” he said firmly. “I distinctly remember it. This house had sleigh bells. I know, because of that lop-sided snowman next to the gate.” He turned around and looked at Crowley. “What could have happened to them?”

“No idea,” Crowley murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets. His face was carefully blank. “Shame if they all blew away, or something. Doubt very much whether they’ll find any replacements in the shops, this late in the season.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a moment, and then a slow smile grew on his face. He looped his arm through Crowley’s. “You’re very good to me, my dear.”

As they walked on, a look of gratification battled with the frown on Crowley’s face. “No idea what you’re talking about.”


	7. Ordinary Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley reflects on how different nights are now, here in their cottage in the South Downs.

Darkness had long since cloaked the South Downs. Inside the little cottage, the shadowy corners vignette the small pool of light by the fire. The only sounds were the crackling flames and the occasional rustle as Aziraphale turned a page in his book.

Ordinarily, Crowley would have put himself to sleep hours ago, or at the very least turned on the television or listened to an album from his collection of soul music. Before, silence was something to be avoided at all costs. Silence gave him time to think. Silence meant being alone.

Lately however, Crowley found himself sleeping less and less. There didn’t seem to be much need for it anymore. Silence didn’t hold any fear.

Tonight, he sat with his legs draped across Aziraphale’s lap, watching him read. The lamp behind him cast a warm glow, highlighting the curve of his cheek and the soft smile on his lips, turning his bright hair into a fuzzy halo. Aziraphale’s hand was on Crowley’s knee, and every once in a while, he would give it an absent-minded pat. There was no need for speaking.

When they first moved into the cottage, it took Crowley weeks to settle in. He had felt like everything was coming loose at the seams, like his carefully constructed sense of self was floating away from him, and he was simply watching it go. It hadn’t been until their first night spent like this that Crowley had identified what the feeling was: For the first time in over six thousand years, he was at peace.

Now, these were ordinary nights. Nights where there was no need for distraction or oblivion. Nights full of peace and quiet love.

Crowley wriggled closer to Aziraphale, curling in until he could lay his head on the angel’s soft shoulder. Without looking away from his book, Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley and dropped a kiss on his hair.

Ordinary nights like these could last for another six thousand years, and Crowley would be perfectly content.


	8. Celestial Harmonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, have you heard Michael Sheen and David Tennant's singing voices??

The snow had deepened during the night. Aziraphale stood by the kitchen window, enjoying the view as he waited for his coffee to brew. Out in the living room, Bing Crosby crooned from the gramophone: I’m dreaming of a whiiiiiiite Christmaaaaaas…

“Just like the ones I used to know,” Aziraphale rumbled along. His singing voice was deep and resonant, which often tended to surprise people, the angel reflected, although he couldn’t imagine why.

“Where the treetops glisten,” he continued, pouring himself a cup of coffee and adding milk and sugar. He went out into the living room. “With every Christmas card I…”

Aziraphale stopped suddenly, cocking his head. Another voice was harmonizing along with Bing’s from somewhere above him.

“May your days be merry and briiiiiight, And may all…La da di dahhhh, mmm da dahhhhhh…” The voice was soft and a bit tentative, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time, but it had a wistful, tender quality that tugged at Aziraphale’s heart.

He set down his mug on the little table next to his armchair and went upstairs. “Crowley?” he said, walking into the bedroom. “Was that you singing just a moment ago?”

The demon whipped around, grabbing frantically for his dark glasses and jamming them on his face. “No. What singing? No idea what you’re talking about, angel.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. It must have been you. There’s no one else in the house.”

Crowley glared and shuffled his feet. “Don’t know why you asked, then. Stupid question, if you already knew the answer.”

Aziraphale stepped forward and gently removed Crowley’s glasses. Crowley stared at him, his golden eyes embarrassed and vulnerable. “But my dear, your voice is beautiful. Why would you be ashamed of it?”

Crowley shrugged, looking at the floor. “Haven’t sung in a long time,” he mumbled. “Out of practice.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “How long is that, exactly?”

“N-n-n-mpfh…” Crowley turned bright red. “W-w-well… Don’t remember, exactly. Never been good with dates, anyway. Long time ago.”

Aziraphale tilted his head, waiting patiently.

“Ngk, well, I… I suppose it must be… oh, six thousand years and a bit.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “A rather important “bit,” it would seem.”

“M-m-m, yes, well.” Crowley’s festive complexion got even brighter, a thing Aziraphale hadn’t thought possible. “Well. I used to be in the Heavenly Choir. Before they went all corporate.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You were in the choir? But… but then why did I never see you there?”

Crowley shook his head. “Before your time. I didn’t stay in long. Celestial harmonies, all that… wasn’t really my thing. Got transferred to star building.”

“Well, whether it was your ‘thing’ or not,” Aziraphale told him, “you really shouldn’t have given up music.”

“I didn’t give it up altogether,” Crowley said with a small smile. “I sort of… well…” He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying hard to appear nonchalant. “I built music into the stars, as a matter of fact.”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “Music in the stars?”

Crowley couldn’t keep a proud smirk off his face. “Rather clever of me, I thought. The entire universe is one big choir. You can’t hear them, of course. Not unless you know how to listen. The humans are just beginning to figure it out.”

“A secret choir,” Aziraphale breathed. “Spread across the universe.” His eyes began to shine. “Oh, Crowley, that’s beautiful.”

Crowley’s smirk grew into a pleased grin. “Surprised?”

Aziraphale reached up and kissed the side of Crowley’s jaw. “No. Not that such a thing could come from you, you beautiful, beautiful soul.”

Crowley smiled down at him. “Glad you like it.”

“I most certainly do.” Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “But, Crowley, dear… Do me one favor?”

Crowley dropped his head so his forehead was touching Aziraphale’s. “What’s that, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Don’t stop using your own voice, now that you’ve found it again.”


	9. The Demon Who Made Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a human who does not know how chestnuts work.  
> Forgive me.

“You know,” Crowley observed, kicking off his boots, “Christmas was always the best time for doing temptations.”

Aziraphale stared at him, his eyes round with shock and indignation. “What? Surely not.”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley said with a smirk, wiggling his toes luxuriously. “Dead easy, tempting people this time of year. All that festive cheer and what-not. Drives people mad. Who do you think had the brilliant idea of every radio station in the country pumping out Christmas songs twenty-four hours a day?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I like Christmas music.”

Crowley stopped wiggling his toes. “Well, all right. But how about presents under the tree? All those greedy little kids waking up on Christmas morning? Teach them base materialism while they’re young, I always say.”

“But, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested. “What about the joy of giving? They learn that, too.”

It was Crowley’s turn to blink. “Y-y-yeah, okay. Fair enough. I’ll give you that one. But the weather. You can’t deny the effect bad weather has on everyone.”

“There’s nothing like weathering a storm together for bringing people close to one another,” Aziraphale pointed out mildly. “And then there are snowmen to be built, hills to be sledded down…” he paused to smile fondly at Crowley. “Snow angels to be made. Oh yes, I think all in all there are more upsides than downsides when it comes to the weather.”

“Discovering snow angels was an accident.” Crowley glared at Aziraphale. “Chestnuts roasting over an open fire. I invented that, too. People going to all that trouble and fuss, burning their fingers, lighting the whole mess on fire… you’ve got to admit, that one’s good.”

“Chestnuts are very good.” Aziraphale beamed. “In fact, that reminds me…” He got up and bustled out to the kitchen. “I have some here, all ready to roast. I meant to save them for later in the month, but we can always get more.”

Crowley stared after him in astonishment. “Well, what about booze, then?” he called. “Drinks flowing, people getting tipsy, making bad decisions all over the place.”

Aziraphale came back into the room, carrying a bag of chestnuts and a roasting pan. As he knelt down in front of the fire, he glanced pointedly at the cup of mulled wine in Crowley’s hand. Crowley set it down, avoiding the angel’s gaze.

“Had to make it taste good, didn’t I? Otherwise nobody’d drink it.” He paused, then grinned. “Caroling. Also one of mine. Going door to door, making people stand there while you sing off-key in their faces, and then demanding money from them. Find something good about that, if you can.”

Aziraphale smiled gently, but there was a decidedly un-angelic gleam in his eye. “I’m afraid I saw you coming with that one, dear,” he murmured, watching the chestnuts as they hissed quietly in the pan. “I put the idea of collecting money for charitable causes into people’s minds specifically for that purpose. Caroling has done a lot of good over the years.

There was a long silence. Aziraphale fought to keep a straight face as he offered the roasting pan to Crowley. "Have a chestnut.”

Crowley reached into the pan and fished one out, then promptly dropped it on the floor. “Ow… Christmas lights!” He made the words sound like a curse. “Getting all tangled up over the summer, bulbs burning out and taking the whole string with them.”

He leapt to his feet, throwing his arms out wildly. “Mince pies! Christmas trees dropping their needles everywhere! Plastic Christmas trees! Crackers with bad jokes and humiliating hats inside! Kids making hideous ornaments their parents have to display forever! Ugly jumpers! Office parties! Christmas tipping! Spending the day with in-laws!”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley strode around the room, his eyebrows slowly rising to his hairline. “My dear, did you invent Christmas single-handed?” he murmured.

“And,” Crowley said, whirling around and pointing triumphantly. “Using too much cellotape while wrapping packages.”

At that, Aziraphale began giggling helplessly. “Oh, dear,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “You’re right, Crowley. Using too much cellotape is quite a good temptation. I can’t find any redeeming quality in that.”

Crowley sat back down, satisfied, and grabbed another chestnut, which by this time was sufficiently cooled.

Aziraphale stared thoughtfully into the fire, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Unless,” he said finally, “unless it could be said to teach the virtue of patience?”

Wordlessly, Crowley got up and stalked out of the room.

Aziraphale watched him go, then shrugged. “More chestnuts for me, then,” he said, popping one into his mouth.


	10. Who Can Say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ineffable Husbands discussing philosophy in the moonlight. Need I say more?  
> Oh wait, yes I do. They're wearing matching puffy jackets.

Crowley had been fidgetting for the past fifteen minutes, and it was beginning to set Aziraphale’s teeth on edge. “Is something wrong, Crowley?” he asked finally.

The demon sighed. “Just feeling restless, that’s all. Think I might go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Aziraphale took off his spectacles and looked at Crowley in surprise. “But it’s nighttime.”

“So?” Crowley stood up and stretched. “There’s a moon out. Want to come along?”

“Well, I…” Aziraphale clasped his hands and glanced about the room, debating with himself.

“Ah, come on,” Crowley urged him. “Live a little, angel.”

Aziraphale rose to the challenge. “All right, then. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit.” Crowley grinned, and the two of them went and pulled on the boots and puffy jackets Aziraphale had bought for them both as soon as the weather had gotten nippy. Normally, Crowley wouldn’t dream of donning an outfit such as this, but tonight, with no one else likely to be out and about, he decided to humor his friend. Besides, he had to admit that the coat was comfortable.

Outside, the full moon reflected off the snow, casting a bright light over the landscape and washing everything of color. It shone off Aziraphale’s hair, turning it to pale silver as he looked around, breathing in deep lungfuls of the sharp air and exhaling clouds of white steam which stood out against the dark sky.

Crowley watched, his golden eyes glittering and unguarded, as the angel’s face filled with delight.

“How lovely,” Aziraphale whispered. “How perfectly lovely this is.”

“Glad you decided to come?” Crowley smiled at him.

Aziraphale smiled back. “Very glad.”

They wandered down the lane together in silence, both of them lost in their separate thoughts. After a while, Aziraphale frowned and said hesitantly, “Crowley, do you ever… well, do you ever think about the day we met? The day that… that the two humans were banished from Eden?”

Crowley glanced over at him. “Occasionally, why?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve found myself thinking about it quite a lot, lately.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley’s forehead wrinkled.

“The whole flaming sword affair.” Aziraphale laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure why I’m talking about it now. It must be something about the moonlight.”

“Still wondering if you did the right thing?” Crowley asked him.

“Wondering what the world might have been like if I hadn’t given it away,” Aziraphale clarified. “If I hadn’t given humankind a weapon.”

“Yeah, well, things might have been different, all right,” Crowley said. “We might have been out of our jobs, just for a start. The humans were attacked by a lion almost as soon as they set foot in the desert, if you’ll remember.”

“Well, yes, there is that,” Aziraphale admitted. “But should I simply have talen better miraculous care of them, rather than making them fend for themselves?”

“There were other gates, other guardians,” Crowley reminded him. “You did more for the humans than any of the rest did.”

“But was it the right thing?” Aziraphale persisted.

“As for that,” Crowley said, “as for doing the right thing, that all depends on who you ask, doesn’t it? Your boss would have said absolutely not, you should have left them alone. Which is enough of a reason to have gone ahead and done it, if you ask me. And, by the way, if you had asked me, at the time, I mean, I would have told you to give them the sword, by all means. And you can draw your own conclusions from there. I wouldn’t worry about it, angel. They’d have found some other way of messing things up, anyway. Humans are good at that. In the end, there’s only one person who can say whether anything we do is right or wrong.” Crowley stopped and turned toward Aziraphale, his face shadowed. “And that’s God. And they’re… like you always say, they’re ineffable. We can’t know what they’re aiming for, not really.”

Crowley hesitated, wishing there was more he could say, wanting to hold Aziraphale and comfort him. But there was still a part of him that worried, a part of him that was shy about initiating affection. A bit of Hell that still hung on.

Fortunately, Aziraphale interpreted his hesitance correctly, and stepped forward into Crowley’s embrace. “Thank you, my dear,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around the demon’s bony back. Then he laughed. “I expect we’ve both made quite a few bad decisions in the course of history, haven’t we?”

“I expect so,” Crowley said. “And I expect we’ll go on making them in the future. Still, everything always seems to turn out all right.”

He felt Aziraphale smile against his shoulder, and warmth poured into his heart. They had made bad decisions. Many of them. But this wasn’t one of them. Never this. Crowley propped his chin on Aziraphale’s silver-bright hair, his golden eyes gazing up into the stars he had made.


	11. Mutual Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme was "pine."   
> Pun-brain activated.

A blast of cold air shot through the cottage as the front door flew open. Crowley glanced up, and his jaw dropped open in surprise. A large pine tree seemed to be struggling to get inside.

“Wh…wha…” Crowley stammered, setting his Extremely Big Book of Astronomy aside.

There was a sputtering sound, and a pale fluff of hair appeared through the thick branches. “Give me a hand, Crowley, would you?” Aziraphale puffed. “This tree is bigger than I thought.”

Crowley laughed in relief and jumped up to help his friend. “Glad it’s you, angel. For a minute I thought it was one of Shakespeare’s plays come to life.”

“One of Shakespeare’s plays?” Aziraphale parroted, peering at him in confusion.

“Yeah. That cursed one with the moving trees.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale laughed. “Macbeth. Yes, this is rather like Birnam Wood, isn’t it? I’ve often wondered if the legendary curse was your work.”

“Don’t think so,” Crowley said. “Although I wish I’d thought of it. Those scrubby little trees he used during that first performance were a bit of a let-down.”

After one last concerted effort, the tree popped through the door with a swish and a shower of needles, most of which, to judge from his indignant yelp, seemed to go straight down Crowley’s neck. Together, they wrestled the tree into the far corner of the living room and stood it up, then collapsed onto the couch.

“Right,” Crowley panted, staring at the tree. It dwarfed the fireplace next to it and nearly brushed the ceiling. “That’s quite a thing, isn’t it?”

“It looked much smaller surrounded by other trees,” Aziraphale said apologetically.

Crowley shrugged. “I like how it looks.”

“So do I, rather,” Aziraphale agreed. “It ought to look magnificent once it’s decorated.” He breathed in deeply. “I’ve always liked the smell of pines the best.”

Crowley sniffed appreciatively. “I’ve never had a Christmas tree before.”

Aziraphale tilted his head, thinking back over the years. “No,” he said finally. “No, neither have I, now that I think about it. I suppose it’s like going to the Nutcracker; meant to be shared with someone.”

Crowley nodded, and sat in silent thought. After a while, he said, “I’m still not used to this, you know.”

Aziraphale turned to him curiously. “This?”

“All of this.” Crowley waved his arms expansively, indicating the entire room. “Any of this. Just… sitting on a couch together without having to worry about who might be looking. Buying a house together. Talking together about whatever we want. Just all this together stuff.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, there were quite a few years when together wasn’t possible.”

“Doesn’t feel real, somehow,” Crowley continued. “Sometimes I still get that old feeling, like I used to. Did you get that, too?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know, my dear. What feeling might that be?”

“Ah, you know,” Crowley gestured vaguely. “That thing. What’s it called? Don’t know what it’s called. That thing. When you miss someone all the time, and then when you’re with them, you miss them even more because you’re not really with them, you’re both just in the same place, and it’s like you’re discorporating all the time because you can’t just be with them, ever. That thing.”

Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tenderness. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I do know exactly what you mean. I’ve felt it too.”

“Well, what’s it called, then?”

Aziraphale hesitated, glancing at the huge tree in the corner. “I believe,” he said with great precision, “I believe it’s what is known as pining.”

There was a long silence as Crowley stared at Aziraphale, and then they both burst out laughing. They were together, now. Everything was joyful.


	12. There Are Angels Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is based on a beautiful piece of art @hollow-head made on Tumblr. You should go look at it.  
> https://hollow-head.tumblr.com/post/189453889344/o-that-we-were-there-o-that-we-were-there-card

“A little bit to the left I think, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, squinting. “And perhaps a teeny bit higher.”

Crowley stretched up onto his tiptoes and placed the last glass bauble on the tree. “There?”

“Perfect,” Aziraphale beamed. “It looks absolutely perfect, Crowley. Do come here and look.”

Crowley stepped back to survey their handiwork, but just as he was opening his mouth to comment, a car horn blared outside. They went over to the front window, and saw a three-wheeled blue car sitting in the lane. A dark-haired young woman in glasses was leaning out the window, waving at them.

“Hey, it’s the book girl,” Crowley said, grinning. “And whatsisname, her boyfriend.”

They opened the front door and waved back.

“Get in, losers,” Anathema yelled. “We’re going caroling.”

“Ah, ha ha ha,” Crowley laughed. “No. No way. Thanks for thinking of us, and all that, but no. It’s not going to happen. We’re busy tonight. Tree decorating.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale cut in. “We just finished the tree. We’d love to join you. Just give us a minute.” He slammed the door before Crowley could say anything, and began grabbing their warm clothes. “Come on, Crowley,” he said, shoving a coat at him. “It will be fun. Besides, Newt and Anathema are our friends.”

“Just because we saved the world together doesn’t make us friends,” Crowley protested.

Aziraphale clapped a pair of fuzzy earmuffs on his head and looked sternly at the demon. “You invented caroling, my dear. The least you can do is participate once in a while. Now, come along.”

He turned and marched out the door without looking back. “Thought angels were supposed to be above temptation,” Crowley grumbled, slouching after him.

“Hey, guys,” Anathema said as Aziraphale and Crowley squeezed into the back of the Wasabi after miracling some extra space for themselves. “It’s my first Christmas in England, so obviously we’re pulling out all the stops. Glad you could join us.”

Crowley smiled thinly at her, but Aziraphale positively glowed. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Tadfield, actually,” Newt responded. “I said we ought to just phone you to meet us there, but then Anathema reminded me that we don’t actually have your number.”

“Wasn’t aware you had our address, either,” Crowley said grumpily.

“Oh, we didn’t,” Anathema said brightly. “But you’ve both got very strong auras. You were easy to track down.”

“You came all that way just to ask us to join you?” Aziraphale’s cheeks turned pink.

Anathema nodded. “Yep. But we were wondering… could you make the trip back a bit quicker?”

“Anything to get this over with,” Crowley muttered. With a quick upward snap of his fingers, the Wasabi shot into the air and zoomed through the sky. Newt screamed and covered his eyes with his hands, but Anathema let out a whoop of delight.

Before they knew it, they were settling back down to earth in Tadfield. As they all piled out of the car, popping sound made them look down the street. A scooter was sputtering slowly along, driven by an older woman with long, spidery lashes and a garish crocheted poncho. A seedy looking man was clinging on desperately behind her. 

“Coo-ee, loves,” Madame Tracy trilled merrily. “We made it just in time. Now, who’s house is this, then?”

Anathema shrugged. “Let’s find out.” She passed around some sheet music, one set for each couple, and they all trooped up to the door. The bell was answered by a blonde woman in a sea-green sweater set and a tweed skirt.

“In dulci jubilo,” began the carolers, “Let us our homage show…”

As they continued, a pudgy, mustached man with a pipe joined the woman at the door, and a young boy with bright blue eyes popped his curly head around the corner, a small black-and-white dog at his feet.

The singing faltered for a moment, but the boy just winked and held a finger up to his lips. After a stunned moment, Sergeant Shadwell soldiered on with the melody, and the others gradually joined him.

Crowley turned his head to look at Aziraphale, who twinkled back at him as they huddled together over the sheet music, and his heart melted. He loved to see his friend looking so happy. And, as their voices blended into one, he had to admit they sounded rather good.

“There are angels singing,” they harmonized. “Nova cantica…”

Crowley slid his arm around Aziraphale, and the angel leaned into his side. “There the bells are ringing… in regis curia…”

…

“There now,” Aziraphale said later, as they walked along the lane to the next house. “Isn’t this fun?”

Crowley reached out and tucked Aziraphale’s scarf more securely around him. “You know, angel, it is.”

Just then, a grouchy-looking old man stumped past them with a dachshund on a lead. The dog growled, and the man stopped and turned around, peering at Crowley from beneath bristling eyebrows. “Don’t I know you from somewhere, young man?”

Crowley gaped at him for a moment, his jaw working like a fish. “Uh, uh, um…” He shook himself and pasted on an unconvincing grin. “Don’t think so. Just passing through, as it were. Visiting.”

“Hmph,” the old man grunted. He moved on, looking back over his shoulder suspiciously.

“Who was that, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Ah, he’s nobody. I got lost on my way here last time, and he gave me directions.”

“Last time?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “You mean when the Bentley was…”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, grimacing. “I don’t think he noticed anything, though. He didn’t mention it.”

Aziraphale giggled, and then glanced ahead. “Oh, Crowley, quick! They’re already at the next house.”

He grabbed Crowley’s hand, and they hurried on to join their friends.


	13. Green Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale got Crowley a Christmas present, and Crowley was not prepared.

Crowley heard a strange rustling sound coming from the living room of the cottage and wandered in to see what was going on. “Angel?”

Aziraphale was kneeling on the floor in front of the enormous decorated pine tree. As Crowley entered the room, he whipped something out of sight behind his back, his cheeks turning pink. The floor around him was littered with paper, cellotape, and tangled ribbon.

“What’s all this?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s flush deepened. “Nothing. That is, I was wrapping your Christmas gift, as a matter of fact.”

Crowley felt suddenly shy. A Christmas gift. His Christmas gift, from Aziraphale. His face grew hot. “Oh, right,” he stammered. “Right, well. Then I’ll… I’ll just…” he began backing out of the room.

“Oh, no, I’ve finished,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I’m not sure why I was hiding it. It just needs some ribbon now.” He pulled a rectangular package out from behind him. It was wrapped in bright red tartan paper.

Crowley stared at it, his shyness growing. He was always the one buying gifts for Aziraphale, not the other way around. Little things, like chocolates, or a bottle of wine, with no need for an occasion to mark them with. The angel had never bought him anything before. Not for a demon.

His eyes dropped to the floor, his shoulder-grazing hair hiding his face. “I… ngk… I haven’t gotten you anything,” he mumbled.

“That’s all right,” Aziraphale said. “There’s still plenty of time.” He paused, and then laughed. “Crowley, come here.”

Crowley hesitated, and then slowly advanced, certain that by now his face and hair must be approximately the same color. Aziraphale patted the floor next to him, and Crowley sat down, folding his long legs awkwardly beneath him.

“Your hair is always getting in your face these days, my dear,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Do you mind if I try something?”

Crowley shrugged and mumbled something incoherent, and then as Aziraphale waited, he nodded. He felt himself gradually relaxing, soothed by the angel’s nearness.

Aziraphale scooted around behind Crowley, gathering half his hair into his hands and combing it with his fingers. He began to braid it slowly, and Crowley almost felt like crying at his gentle touch.

“I’ve always liked it when you’ve worn your hair long,” Aziraphale said, his voice light and conversational. He looked around. “Pass me that piece of green ribbon in front of you, would you, Crowley?”

Crowley reached for the ribbon and handed it back silently. Aziraphale tied off the end of the braid with a neat bow, then sat back to admire the effect. “Very nice. I believe I’ll finish your gift with the same ribbon.”

Crowley wiggled around until he was facing Aziraphale. “Why did you get me a gift?” he asked abruptly.

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Why… why just because I wanted to. You’ve given me so many things over the centuries. It’s what people do when they love each other, isn’t it?”

“Love?” Crowley repeated. He began to smile. “Love… right, yeah, love. As in… love.”

“I always have, you know,” Aziraphale told him. “Although I’m not sure I realized it for a long time. Too many fears getting in the way, I suppose. But now, well… I mean, we stopped the world ending, didn’t we? There’s nothing we need to fear anymore, not if we’re together. So I want to make up for all the years I was too scared to show you how I felt. I want to show you every day, in every way I can think of.”

Crowley’s smile stretched so wide it almost seemed to split his face in two. “Right. Okay. Yeah. That’ll… that’ll be nice.”


	14. Bourbon Over Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is such a little hedonist that he can even shock a demon.

Crowley had slept the night before. The top half of his hair was still pulled back in Aziraphale’s braid, although it had loosened overnight. He had replaced the green ribbon with a simple black elastic. 

“Aziraphale?” he called, descending the stairs into the hall.

“In the kitchen,”Aziraphale called back. 

Crowley lounged against the door frame, yawning. “What are you doing?”

The angel was stirring something at the counter, surrounded by eggshells, cream, sugar, and a variety of spices. “I’m making eggnog,” he explained. “Now, what am I missing?” He placed one finger on his chin and wrinkled his forehead. “Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me.” He bustled over to a high cupboard and pulled out an enormous bottle of bourbon.

Crowley’s eyes flew up to his hairline. “How long has that been in the house?”

“A month or so, as you might have known if you ever used the kitchen for anything other than making coffee,” Aziraphale said, pouring an eye-watering amount of liquor into the creamy mixture. “Brandy is of course the more traditional add-in, but I find I prefer mine with a bit more of a kick.”

He shot an amused glance at the astonished demon. “It’s for this evening. However, I do like a bit of eggnog in my morning coffee in the winter. Would you like some as well?”

“Uh, uh...” Crowley shook himself and recovered his voice. “Yeah, all right.” He began to grin. “It’s a wonder Heaven didn’t throw you out ages ago, angel.”


	15. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of dramatic idiots in love.
> 
> This chapter is for Tori_Aoshiro... thank you so much for all your lovely comments, they make me smile and keep me writing.

The sun had been down for hours, and one angel and one demon had been drinking solidly for three of them.

They sat next to one another on the couch in their small, South Downs cottage, lit only by the soft, warm glow of the Christmas tree. On the table in front of them sat a huge bottle. It was nearly empty. 

"'F y' ask me," Crowley slurred. "'F you're asking me, 'f y' want my opinion on the subject..." he trailed off, contemplating his hands, which were laced around his glass.

"What... what subject might that be?" Aziraphale said with great precision.

"Bourbon. Waste of piffecly good bourbon, sloshing it into eggy... egg... eggy stuff. Gotter bottler bourbon, you just drink it, 'f y' ask me."

Aziraphale frowned. "I don't remember asking you."

"'At's why I said if," Crowley said with as much dignity as he could muster. "If you'd asked me, I'd've said that. That's what I'd've said. I'd've said, y' gotter bottler piffecly good bourbon, you just drink it." 

"We've been doing that," Aziraphale pointed out. "Quite successfully."

The demon and the angel stared at one another, gradually becoming aware of how drunk they were. 

Crowley heaved himself up off the couch. "Think I'll go for a little stroll. Clear my head."

Aziraphale's face scrunched. "But you'll freeze, Crowley." 

Crowley shook his head. "Nahhh. Do me good. Or something."

"But, but..." Suddenly, Aziraphale began to giggle. "But, baby, it's cold outside." 

Crowley grinned. "I really can't stay," he sang softly.

"But, baby, it's cold outside." Aziraphale picked up the tune. 

"I've got to go away..."

"But, baby, it's cold outside." The angel put on an exaggerated pout.

"This evening has been, so very nice."

Aziraphale reached out for Crowley. "I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice."

Crowley fought back a smile. "...really, I'd better scurry."

"Beautiful, please don't hurry."

Crowley sank back down to the couch. "But maybe just half a drink more."

Aziraphale shot him a sly smile as he filled Crowley's glass rather more than halfway. "Put some records on while I pour."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, leaving his drink untouched. "I wish I knew how..."

"Your eyes are like starlight now."

"Hey, so are yours," Crowley said in his normal speaking voice. 

Aziraphale erupted into giggles again, but managed to gasp out, "Mind if I move in closer?"

He wiggled sideways, and Crowley snaked one arm around his shoulders as he sang, "I really can't stay..."

"But, baby, it's cold..."

They sang the last line together, loud and dramatic, both of them laughing as Crowley flung himself down to lie across Aziraphale's lap, one long leg pointing straight up at the ceiling.

"Baby, it's co-o-o-ld... ou-u-t... si-i-i-i-i-de!"


	16. Sliding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to see here, just some dorky old immortals acting like children.

The first rays of sunlight hit the front window of the cottage, and Aziraphale looked up from his book. 

“Dear me, is it morning already?” he murmured. Then he gasped. “Oh, look! Crowley, look at this!”

Crowley, who was lying on the couch with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, stirred and dragged himself towards wakefulness. “Mmm? What’s up, angel?”

“Look outside, Crowley.” Aziraphale beamed down at him, his eyes sparkling. “There must have been an ice storm during the night.”

Crowley swung himself upright, then wobbled slightly, blinking hazily. “Oof. Bourbon’s definitely worn off.” He sniffed and shook himself, and then held out his hand to help Aziraphale up. Hand in hand, they went to the window and gazed out.

The entire landscape glittered in the orange light of dawn, sending splintered fractals shooting into the sky. Rainbows danced on every surface, and the lane running past their front gate glowed like a river. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and propped his chin on his shoulder. “Do you know what I’m thinking, angel?” 

Aziraphale placed his hands on top of Crowley’s. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Crowley grinned wolfishly, then grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door. “I think it’s time to go sliding.”

“S-sliding?” Aziraphale repeated, flustered. “Outside? You mean on the road? But... but it must be so cold out!”

With an upward snap of Crowley’s fingers, Aziraphale was bundled up to his nose in warm layers of clothing. “Come on, Aziraphale! Live a little in this magnificent world of ours.”

They ran through the front garden, their footsteps crunching as they broke through the layer of ice on top of the soft snow. Together, they jumped onto the smooth, icy road and slid, arms flailing for balance, their laughter coming out in great puffs of steam. 

As they slowed down, they staggered off the road onto the snow-covered verge. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the waist and they spun around, still laughing. When they stopped, they wrapped their arms around one another and simply stood, looking around at the familiar countryside, transformed into an icy wonderland. 

“So what do you think, angel,” Crowley said finally. “Worth saving?”

Aziraphale let his cheek rest against Crowley’s shoulder. “Worth saving,” he murmured. “Oh, most definitely worth saving.”


	17. The Finishing Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale learns how to take a selfie.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said out of the blue as he finished his lunch, “you own one of those intelligent telephones, don’t you?”

“One of…” Crowley set down his plant mister and stared at him. “A smart phone? Yeah, I’ve got one of those.”

“And does it have a camera on it?” Aziraphale’s voice held a mixture of eagerness and embarrassment that Crowley always found particularly endearing. He grinned.

“Yeah, it’s got a camera. Why? Found a nice piece of sushi you want to commemorate?”

Aziraphale turned slightly pink. “Oh, oh no, I was just wondering… does your smart phone’s camera have the ability to take a… a selfie?”

Crowley turned hastily back to his plants. “Probably,” he said, spritzing the leaves vigorously. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

He tried not to think about the dozens of selfies on his camera roll. After all, they hardly counted. A demon had to check how his hair was looking somehow, didn’t he?

“How do you know about selfies, anyway?” His voice came out somewhat grumpy as he tried to hide his own embarrassment.

“Anathema explained them to me,” Aziraphale told him. “At least… well, it was after the caroling party, when we all went back to her house. I was admiring her Christmas tree while you were talking to Madame Tracy, do you remember? Anyhow, I noticed that she had a lovely ornament with a photographic image of she and her young man, Newt. She said that they had taken a selfie together on her smart phone, and then had it made into an ornament over the internet. And… and… well, I thought it might be rather nice if we had one of those ourselves.”

The angel was standing primly in the middle of the floor, hands clasped in front of him and feet placed carefully together. He grew pinker and pinker as he spoke, and by the end, Crowley knew he would never be able to refuse him anything. Still, one had to keep up appearances. He let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Yes, all right, then. Come here, angel.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on the camera. Aziraphale came and stood awkwardly next to him, clearly unsure of what he was supposed to do. Crowley leaned over so their cheeks were nearly touching. “There we are on the screen, see? Nothing to it. Now, just smile.” He pressed the shutter button.

Aziraphale blinked. “Is that really all it takes? Why, it’s quite simple, isn’t it?”

“Even Hastur could do it,” Crowley said. “Well, maybe not Hastur. Maybe Beelzebub.”

He examined the photo critically. If he’d known his hair looked like that, he’d have made Aziraphale wait. But then he saw how beautiful his angel looked, his face aglow with excitement and pleasure. No carefully arranged portrait could ever replace this snapshot now.

“So what do we do next?” Aziraphale inquired. “Use the internet to put it on an ornament?”

Crowley shrugged. “We could do. Or you could just hold out your hands.”

Looking confused, Aziraphale followed his instructions. Crowley dropped into his hands a perfect little ornament, with shining gold filigree around the edges, and their selfie in the middle.

“Oh!” Aziraphale caught his breath, his face instantly suffusing with delight. “Oh, it’s wonderful. It’s even nicer than I thought it would be.” He stepped forward and hung it carefully on the tree, right in front. “There. Now our tree is complete.”


	18. Gingerbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of cuties in aprons getting crafty in the kitchen.

A warm, spicy scent filled the cottage. Crowley followed his nose to the kitchen, where he leaned against the door frame and grinned. Aziraphale was leaning over the table, cutting shapes out of gingerbread. A ruffled apron covered his immaculate clothing, and his face was scrunched with concentration.

“Another human tradition, angel?”

Aziraphale glanced up with a smile. “Oh, Crowley, good. You’re just in time. Would you get the first batch out of the oven?”

As Crowley pulled the hot pan out and set it on the counter, Aziraphale sniffed appreciatively. “Don’t they smell wonderful? I’ve never made gingerbread before, but I saw these pastry cutters at the shop and thought it might be fun.”

Crowley surveyed the little shapes that were scattered across the pan. There were circles, and stars, and little people, and angels with widespread wings.

“I’ve made some white icing as well,” Aziraphale continued as he put the second pan in the oven. “So we could decorate them together as soon as they are cool.” He looked hopefully at his friend.

Crowley smiled at him. “Anything you’d like, angel.”

…

A few minutes later, as Aziraphale tied an apron around his skinny frame with a neat bow, Crowley found himself regretting his expansive statement.

“All I’m going to do is squeeze icing out of a bag,” he protested. “I can keep my clothes clean without any help.”

“I’m sure you can.” Aziraphale gave his shoulders a pat. “But better to be on the safe side, don’t you think?”

Crowley grimaced, but picked up his bag of icing and bent over the gingerbread shapes in front of him. Soon, he was absorbed in his work, finding it oddly satisfying to squeeze the icing out in thin lines and watch the shapes transform.

First, he traced the outline of one of the stars, then added some complicated geometry into the middle, recalling the design of one of his favorite nebulae. When he was satisfied with that, he set it carefully aside and picked up an angel shape. He drew feathers on the wings in tidy rows, and then added some cheerful squiggles to the top of the head, mimicking a familiar fluff of hair.

Across the table, Aziraphale began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Crowley asked, looking up.

The angel held out the piece of gingerbread he’d been working on; a little person on which he’d drawn a jacket with exaggerated lapels, a pair of dark glasses, and a massive grin. “We’ve made each other.”

“My face doesn’t look like that,” Crowley said, glaring.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, his voice full of mischief. “When you look at me it does.”

Crowley opened his mouth, shut it again, and then began to grin. “Fair enough.”

“What are you going to do with your circle?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley winked at him. “Watch.”

He began to draw a complicated series of waving, meandering lines. At first, they seemed to be totally random, but under Aziraphale’s astonished gaze, they began to come together into the shape of continents, and finally, Crowley held up a tiny map of the earth, with England at the center.

“There you are, angel,” he said. “To the world.”

Aziraphale clapped, beaming. “To the world.”


	19. No More Wishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and fluffy, aka the polar opposite of myself.

All the lights in the cottage were off, allowing the stars to twinkle in through the windows. Crowley was spread across the couch, one leg tossed over the back, the other trailing along the length of the cushions. Aziraphale was lying with him, his head leaning on Crowley’s chest. Both his hands were resting on his torso, interlaced over one of Crowley’s. The demon’s other hand was absentmindedly trailing through the angel’s hair, playing with the short curls. They had both been silent for a long time, simply gazing out at the sky.

Suddenly, a bright streak shot across the sky and was gone in a blink.

“A shooting star,” Aziraphale murmured. “Did you see it?”

“Meteor,” Crowley corrected him.

“Humans make wishes on them, you know.”

“Mm.” Crowley smiled. “Funny, the things they pin their hopes on.”

“I’ve always thought it a charming idea,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley laughed. “Okay then. What would you wish for?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer for a while. Crowley pushed at one of his curls, watching it spring back into place, and then tilted his head, trying to see the angel’s face.

“I… I can’t think of anything,” Aziraphale said finally. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me? For so long, I looked to Heaven to tell me what to hope for, and yet… And yet I think I stopped hoping for anything much a long time ago.”

“Ah, well, hope,” Crowley said. “That’s different.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Aziraphale said slowly. “I must have had wishes. I can still taste them, their tang and burn in my throat.”

Crowley placed his free hand over one of Aziraphale’s, stroking it with his thumb. “But you don’t know what they are?”

“I don’t have them any more,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “Just the memory of them. I don’t know where they’ve gone. What about you? What would you wish for?”

Crowley squinted, contemplating the square of dark sky where the meteor had appeared. “D’ you know, I can’t think of anything, either.”

They fell silent again, each lost in their own thoughts.

After a long time, Aziraphale burst out laughing. “Oh, Crowley,” he gasped. “I’m so foolish. There’s nothing wrong with me at all. I don’t wish for anything now because I don’t need to. I have this world, and I have you. And that’s enough.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer and laughed along with him, a joyful, free sound that soared upward and swirled among the stars he had made.


	20. Comfy Cozy Are We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has Crowley so whipped, and he knows it.

“Crowley! Crowley, it’s here! My package has arrived!” Aziraphale had burst in through the door a moment before and was now practically running up the stairs. “Come and see!”

Crowley, who was already in the bedroom, turned around as Aziraphale came flying into the room, a box in his arms. A small smile tugged at one corner of the demon’s mouth. “Whatever it is, it’s certainly got you excited, angel.”

Aziraphale plopped the box on the bed and tugged it open. “It’s for us to wear to Mrs. Johnson’s White Elephant party tomorrow night.”

“Oh, that,” Crowley said, his voice flat. “I wasn’t planning to go to that, actually.”

“I know you weren’t,” Aziraphale said. “But now, you see, you’ll simply have to.” With a flourish, he pulled out a large expanse of red, white, and black knitted material and held it up.

Crowley stared at it. “Why has it got two neck openings?”

The object Aziraphale was displaying appeared to be a Christmas jumper knitted by someone’s gran after too much mulled wine. It had two sleeves, true, but it also had two neck openings, as Crowley had observed, and two identical motifs on the front: Two sets of mirrored reindeer with two hearts floating between them.

“It’s a couple’s jumper,” Aziraphale explained. “So now you have to come to the party with me, otherwise I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Right, because we won’t look at all ridiculous if we’re both wearing it,” Crowley said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Aziraphale continued as if Crowley hadn’t spoken. “It was so thoughtful of Mrs. Johnson to invite us. We can finally meet all of our neighbors.”

Crowley glared at the jumper. “If you think I’m going to be seen in public in that thing…” his voice trailed off as Aziraphale turned his saddest puppy-dog gaze on him. “Oh, all right. Let’s try it on, see how it fits.”

They both ducked into the depths of the jumper, and after a few moments of confused scrabbling, their heads popped through the openings, and they looked at each other. Aziraphale giggled and reached up with his free hand to fix Crowley’s hair, which was looking more rumpled than usual after their efforts.

“Well, this is cozy,” Crowley observed, arching one eyebrow. “What am I supposed to do with my other arm?”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to keep it around my waist for the entire evening, my dear.”


	21. The Real Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley really, really hates parties, but he really, really loves Aziraphale.

It was eight o’clock in the evening, and Crowley was filled with regret. For starters, he regretted agreeing to come to Mrs. Johnson’s party at all. These sorts of events, with all their loud chatter and crowded rooms, reminded him too much of Hell.

He was also regretting this ridiculous conjoined jumper Aziraphale had convinced him to wear. Although, he had to admit to himself as Aziraphale leaned into him and tightened his hidden arm around Crowley’s waist, it did have certain advantages.

Crowley looked over at the angel’s face, glowing with excitement as the white elephant gift exchange progressed. Some of his annoyance melted away, and he brushed his cheek lightly against Aziraphale’s, thinking back to this afternoon.

Aziraphale had spent most of it agonizing over what they ought to bring as their contribution to the exchange. Crowley’s suggestion that they could always bring an actual elephant had fallen on deaf ears.

“Maybe not,” Crowley had answered himself at the time. “Bit too on-the-nose, d’you think? Or trunk, I suppose,” he’d added after a thoughtful silence.

His attempt at wit had earned him nothing but an exasperated tut, so he had spent the rest of the afternoon looking after his plants and staying out of Aziraphale’s way.

The angel had finally selected a book of Oscar Wilde’s quotations. The book had, of course, long been redundant in Aziraphale’s collection, since he had memorized every page within a month of owning it. It had been chosen by a woman sitting across the room from them, whose name Crowley knew he had been told, but had already forgotten.

When their turn came to select a mystery package, Crowley and Aziraphale negotiated the journey across the room, not to mention the gift choosing, clumsily, causing the other guests to laugh and shout encouragements. Crowley ground his teeth as he hurried them back to their seat as quickly as possible without causing them both to fall.

Working together with their free hands, they managed to unwrap the gift they had chosen. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small package, a fact which was explained when a metal doorstop in the shape of a militant-looking pug emerged from the tissue paper.

Aziraphale held it up, giggling, for the rest of the guests to see. Then, as they all hooted and clapped, he leaned over and whispered in Crowley’s ear.

“The real gift is you being here with me. Thank you, my dear.”

The quick kiss on the cheek that followed made Crowley feel that everything had been worth it.  



	22. Sleeping Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen, this may look short and fluffy and innocent, but I nearly killed myself writing it. Proceed at your own risk.

Morning light touched Crowley’s eyelids gently. As he swam toward consciousness, he became aware of an enveloping warmth all around him, and a soft weight pressing down on his body. What was it? He pried one eye open, just a tiny slit. His vision was filled with fluffy white curls, and the pink curve of a cheek. Ah, yes. It was Aziraphale.

How had they ended up like this? Crowley searched his foggy memory for the details of last night’s party. Alcohol. He and Aziraphale had drunk quite extraordinary amounts of it, he knew that for certain. He dimly remembered staggering home and collapsing on the couch, neither of them bothering to remove the “couples jumper” Aziraphale had been so excited about wearing. And anyway, Aziraphale had developed a delightful tendency to get clingy when he was tipsy. They must have been lying together like this all night.

Crowley opened his other eye and smiled. He’d never seen Aziraphale sleep before. The angel’s face was relaxed, his lips slightly parted and his dark eyelashes lying in perfect arcs across his flushed cheeks. He was beautiful.

Slowly, with infinite care, Crowley reached up with his one free hand and ran his fingers through his angel’s hair. Aziraphale snorted quietly and shifted his head, turning his face toward Crowley’s hand and nestling deeper into his chest.

Crowley’s smile grew into a grin, his golden eyes brimming with tenderness. He would let Aziraphale sleep. In their little warm circle at the center of the universe, they had everything they needed.


	23. Silence The Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a tiny bit of angst. Aziraphale sometimes has trouble remembering that he's free.

Crowley tossed another log on the fire, grinning as a torrent of sparks flew upward. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated fire enough until this month,” he observed. “It’s really quite nice, don’t you think, angel?“

No answer came, so he looked over his shoulder. Aziraphale was sitting in his armchair staring into the flames, but didn’t seem to see them at all. His usually bright eyes were dull and glazed, his face somber.

“Aziraphale? You all right?”

The angel blinked and shook himself, but his smile was strained and unconvincing. “Yes. Yes, of course. Just lost in my thoughts, I suppose.”

Crowley frowned. “They don’t look like very nice thoughts.”

Aziraphale glanced at him briefly, then began to fidget with his cuff. “Not especially,” he admitted. “I was remembering the last time Gabriel visited my bookshop. He brought Sandalphon with him, you know. Bad lot, that Sandalphon, don’t know if you ever met him. They stood at either end of the room, so I had to have my back to one of them at all times.” His voice was tired and blank, but he shivered slightly.

In one long stride, Crowley crossed the space between them and dropped to his knees, his hands on Aziraphale’s thighs.

Aziraphale put his hands on top of Crowley’s, his face crumpling. “The worst part was that they could sense you’d been there. I used Jeffrey Archer as an excuse, but…” He stared into Crowely’s eyes. “I can still feel all their suspicion, all their disapproval. And it frightens me, Crowley.”

“Forget them,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “It’s them who should be worried about us, not the other way around, remember? We taught them that lesson good and proper.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I know. And yet… and yet sometimes I still can’t help wondering if they were right. To disapprove of me, I mean.”

Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale, hugging him hard. “Don’t say that, angel,” he said, his voice muffled by Aziraphale’s waistcoat. “You’re a better person than any of them by miles. Hundreds of miles. Thousands of ‘em.”

Aziraphale laughed; a dry, forced sound. “That’s kind of you, my dear, but hardly accurate. Even I have to admit that to judge by Heaven’s standards–”

Rage bubbled up in Crowley suddenly. “Bugger Heaven and all their righteous standards,” he said savagely. He pulled back and glared at Aziraphale. “What right have they to judge when they treated you like… like…”

He stuttered to a halt and buried his face in Aziraphale’s waistcoat again, afraid that too much of the truth might show in his eyes.

“They’re nothing, Aziraphale,” he said, his voice breaking. “They’re no more than ghosts to us now. And you… you’re everything. You’re the whole world and all the stars in the sky. And don’t you ever forget it.”

There was a long silence, and then Aziraphale bent down, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and resting his cheek against his hair. “All right, Crowley. I won’t forget.”


	24. We've Got Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema is into Star Wars, apparently.

Crowley opened the front door, stamping the snow off his boots, a stack of mail clamped under one arm. “Aziraphale? You here?”

“I won’t be a moment, dear,” a voice fluted down the hallway, and within a minute the angel came bustling after it. “What do you need?”

“Well, mainly to get you under this mistletoe,” Crowley said, grinning as he pulled Aziraphale forward by the lapels to plant a kiss on his perfectly arched lips. “Oh, and I picked up the mail as well.”

“Wiley old serpent,” Aziraphale murmured, his cheeks slightly pink.

“You’re the one who hung it there,” Crowley pointed out smugly. As he handed the mail to Aziraphale, a large red envelope slid to the floor. Crowley stooped to pick it up, glancing curiously at the return address. “It’s from Tadfield.”

“Really?” Aziraphale took the envelope from him and tore it open. Inside was a folded card, displaying a snow-covered vintage village scene. Up in the corner of the sky, someone had doodled a witch, flying along on a broomstick and waving cheerily.

“Why, it’s from Anathema and Newt,” Aziraphale said as he opened the card and scanned the contents. “She’s written us a message, listen.”

He took a deep breath and began to read aloud. “‘Hi, my Rebel Alliance friends! I don’t usually celebrate Christmas… you know, witches and all that. But apparently some things are mandatory when you have a British boyfriend, so here is a Christmas card for you. I guess I can stretch a little and wish you both a very happy holiday season in your cute little cottage.’ And she’s drawn a little smiling face underneath, you see?”

Aziraphale carried the card into the living room and set it tenderly in the middle of the mantelpiece. Crowley followed him, and they stood together for a moment, looking at the card.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said suddenly, snuggling into the demon’s side. “It’s so nice to have friends.”


	25. Morning Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a shameless plug for my playlist...
> 
> [ Some Bebop for an Angel ](http://8tracks.com/turniptitaness/some-bebop-for-an-angel)

Crowley woke up in a warm cocoon of blankets, pillows, and Aziraphale. He stretched out his legs and wiggled his toes, then curled up again, pulling Aziraphale even closer.

The angel slid his fingers through Crowley’s hair and kissed his forehead gently. “Good morning, love.”

“M-m-umfh,” Crowley said, burying his face in Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Come along, sleepyhead. It’s time to get up.”

“N-n-n…” Crowley latched his arms around Aziraphale’s body, holding him immobile.

Aziraphale relaxed and continued stroking Crowley’s hair for a few more minutes. Then he whispered, “There are presents waiting for us downstairs.”

Crowley opened one eye. “Presents?”

…

Fifteen minutes later, they were seated on the floor next to the Christmas tree. Aziraphale was dressed neatly in a woolly sky-blue jumper and cream-colored trousers, while Crowley was still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in all directions.

Aziraphale handed him the green-ribboned package. “Here, open this one first.”

Crowley tore off the paper and lifted the lid of a white garment box to reveal a black t-shirt. Printed across the front was a dazzling galaxy, with a rainbow-haired unicorn leaping through the stars. Crowley stared at it for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

Aziraphale joined him, looking pleased. “I ordered it from the internet,” he said proudly. “It made me think of you as soon as I saw it.”

“What,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “You mean you like to remember how you had to explain why we never see unicorns any more? Is it my fault I didn’t get the memo?”

“Well yes, but, Crowley,” Aziraphale giggled. “Seventeen ninety-three. All those advances the world had made in the sciences, and you didn’t even know how–”

“All right, all right.” Crowley pulled on his new shirt. “No need to rub it in. How do I look?”

“Lovely.” Aziraphale beamed. “Now, what shall I open first?”

Crowley selected a flat, square package wrapped in red paper with the words Naughty or Nice? written in stripes. “This one.”

Aziraphale opened it and found a vinyl record for his gramophone. The label read “Some Bebop for an Angel” in a spiky scrawl of handwriting.

“You need to get beyond Schubert and Sondheim,” Crowley said. “There’s a whole world of music out there that you’re missing. So I made you a playlist. Getting it onto vinyl took some doing, so you’d better appreciate it.”

“Oh, oh thank you, dear.” Aziraphale looked at the record with a mixture of curiosity and doubt. “Can we listen to it together while we open the rest of our gifts?”

Crowley clambered to his feet. “Give it to me.” He set the record on the turntable.

“Does it have any of that band, oh, what were they called? Something about velvet?”

“The Velvet Underground.” Crowley placed the needle in the middle of the record. “Yup. Should be right about here.”

A slow, dreamy rhythm filled the room. As Crowley sat back down, the vocals began. I found a reason to keep living… Oh, and the reason, dear, is you…

Aziraphale, swaying with the beat, smiled at Crowley. “This is nice, actually.”

Crowley grinned back at him. “I know. Merry Christmas, angel.”


	26. Eternity Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what this is, tbh... In my defense, I was practically comatose after my Family Christmas Party when I wrote it.

Crowley came down to the kitchen to make coffee. He was still wearing the unicorn t-shirt Aziraphale had given him, and he had no intention of removing it until he had to.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw Aziraphale sitting at the table, a mug of cider in front of him. He was frowning into space, and didn’t appear to have moved in quite some time.

“Thinking about something, angel?” Crowley asked him, snapping his fingers at the kettle. There was something to be said for slow, artisanal brews, but sometimes a demon just needed his coffee fast.

Aziraphale sighed. “It’s that bird.”

“What bird?”

“The one you told me about in the year two thousand and… and… oh, whenever it was. The bird that sharpens its beak on a mountain. I still can’t fathom how it gets there.”

Crowley stared at the angel for a long time, a wide range of emotions passing over his face. The kettle finished boiling, but he ignored it.

Aziraphale glared at him. “What?”

Suddenly, Crowley began to laugh. “Aziraphale,” he wheezed, propping himself against the counter. “Aziraphale, for someone so clever, you really are… The bird is a metaphor. It doesn’t actually sharpen its beak on anything. It just means, y'know…” He waved his hands. “Means a really long time, that’s all.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened indignantly. “You mean there is no bird?”

“And no mountain.” Crowley shook his head. “I read that story in a book. Written by a man named Loon, which should tell you how seriously to take it. I can’t believe you thought it was real.”

“Stranger things have been true,” Aziraphale defended himself. “Think of the platypus. Or the fourteenth century.”

“Mm,” Crowley said, grimacing. “You’ve got a point there.” He paused. “I’m sorry I laughed.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “It’s all right.”


	27. Look At Us Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based on my experience of seeing Mamma Mia live on Broadway. It makes you feel so drunk, I'm not even kidding.

Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the Ritz together, giggling hysterically.

“Table for two,” Crowley said to the host, who was staring at them somewhat suspiciously. “I believe you have one open.”

The host blinked in surprise. “Why yes, a table has just unexpectedly become available,” he told them. “Right this way.”

“Miraculous,” Aziraphale murmured, sending them both into another fit of laughter.

“Thanks,” Crowley said as the host seated them. “And we’ll have a bottle of champagne to start off with.”

Aziraphale picked up a menu, humming a bouncy tune and letting his shoulders wiggle to the rhythm. Crowley watched him fondly.

“And so your musical education continues,” he remarked. “I still can’t believe you’ve never been to see Mamma Mia before. I thought you practically lived for the theatre.”

“Oh I do,” Aziraphale said. “But I thought…” He began to giggle again. “I thought the music wouldn’t really be my speed.”

Crowley grinned. “Look at you now.”

“Will I ever learn?” Aziraphale sang lightly back at him.

“I don’t know how…” Their voices blended. “…but I suddenly lose control…”

A waiter approached their table with a bottle of champagne. He seemed unsure about giving it to them. Crowley beckoned him over.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I promise we aren’t drunk.”

“Only on the theatre,” Aziraphale said a little wildly.

The waiter smiled nervously, poured their drinks, and scuttled away again.

“I’m afraid we’ve frightened the staff,” Crowley said, his eyes gleaming.

Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively. “They have no fire within their souls.” He raised his glass. “To music.”

Crowley raised his glass in response. “To music, and to us.”

…

Later that night, along the road leading to the South Downs, the peaceful silence was broken by the roar of a speeding car and two loud, joyful voices raised above the sound of the motor:

“Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted

Blue since the day we parted

Why, why did I ever let you go?

Mamma mia, now I really know

My my, I could never let you go…”


	28. The Princess and Snowball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has such a soft spot for little kids, y'all.

As the afternoon light turned golden, Crowley went out into the garden to glare at the rosebushes. Aziraphale was so looking forward to their blooms in the springtime, and if Crowley had anything to say in the matter, they would put on the best display of their lives. He didn’t dare to yell at them while Aziraphale was anywhere near, but his stare was enough to make a few of them shake the snow off their leaves.

Suddenly, a small, white creature went streaking past the front gate. A high-pitched voice called frantically, “Snowball, Snowball!”

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the animal skidded to a stop. He went out and scooped it up in one arm. It was a young cat, and it was staring at him in surprise.

“Snowball!” The cry came again, and Crowley turned to see a little girl running toward him. She was wearing a puffy yellow princess dress and a tiara. Her hair was pulled up in little bundled twists.

He held the cat out to her. “This yours?”

The little girl pulled the cat into her arms and hugged it. “You scared me,” she told it, and then glanced shyly up at Crowley. “Thank you for catching him. Mummy told me to be careful about opening the door because we just moved in, but I forgot.”

“Glad to be of service.” Crowley bowed. “What’s your name, m’lady?”

The little girl giggled. “Camryn.”

“Well, Princess Camryn, welcome to the village. Does your mother know you’re out?”

Camryn looked around doubtfully. “I don’t think so.”

“Best run home then, before she misses you,” Crowley said.

Camryn turned around, hesitated, then looked back over her shoulder at Crowley. “You’re nice,” she told him, and then scampered off.

Crowley watched until she disappeared through the front door of a house down the street. Then he went inside the cottage to find Aziraphale standing by the window, beaming at him.

“What?” he snapped, frowning.

“Quite a nice person,” Aziraphale said simply.

Crowley felt his face growing hot. “Shut up.”


	29. Glittering Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale proves yet again that where persuading grumpy demons is concerned, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Crowley reached carefully up and removed the final glass bauble from the tree. He passed it down to Aziraphale, who packed it neatly away in a box.

“Right, that’s that,” Crowley remarked, dusting his hands together. “S'pose this means we have to get this monster pine out the door now, somehow.”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley from where he knelt on the floor. “Actually, Crowley,” he began, “I had a sort of idea about that.”

The angel’s eyes were huge and round, his lips slightly pursed. Alarm bells began ringing in Crowley’s head. He knew that look. Aziraphale was about to get whatever he wanted. “Yeah?” he said cautiously.

“It would let us keep the tree for a while longer before we go to the trouble of disposing of it,” Aziraphale said persuasively, his eyes growing more limpid and puppy-like by the second.

Crowley sighed. “All right, what is this wonderful effort-saving idea?”

Aziraphale smiled eagerly. “Well, you see, I was just thinking about the parties we’ve been invited to this season, and I thought it might be nice to have one of our own. A New Year’s Eve party.”

Crowley groaned. “A party, angel? Here in our nice, quiet house?”

“It wouldn’t be a very big party,” Aziraphale said. “Just a few people… Mrs. Johnson next door, Anathema and Newt, Sergeant Shadwell and Madam Tracy… just our friends who have been so kind to us.”

He fell silent, letting the corners of his mouth droop a little as he waited for Crowley’s response.

Crowley stared at him, then shook his head and grimaced. “Okay, angel. Have it your way. But please explain to me how this saves us any effort?”

Aziraphale beamed up at him, his face shining. “Oh, really? Thank you, my dear.”

He got up and bustled out to the storage cupboard in the hall. Crowley heard him shuffling boxes around, and then he came back, clutching two long strings of paper stars, which were covered in gold and silver glitter.

“We can turn the Christmas tree into a New Year’s tree, you see? I have tinsel that looks like fireworks as well, and a banner we can hang on the mantelpiece.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped. “You’ve been planning this for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Ever since Mrs. Johnson’s gift exchange.” Aziraphale nodded contentedly.

“Oh, for somebody’s sake,” Crowley sighed. “All right, give those here. Let’s save some effort by re-decorating.”

Aziraphale passed him one of the strings. “And I was just thinking,” he said, “we could invite that new family down the street. The one with that little girl you met yesterday. And possibly the woman from Mrs. Johnson’s party; the one who ended up with my Wilde. She seemed quite interested in seeing the rest of my collection.”

“Oh, sure. Why not?” Crowley waved his arm expansively. “What’s a few more people? The more the merrier, eh?”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the demon’s sarcasm.

Together, they wrapped the tree in stars. Crowley did the top half, where his long arms were needed, and Aziraphale did the bottom. Once they finished, they stood back to admire the effect.

“Not bad,” Crowley said, putting his hands on his hips.

Aziraphale looked over at him and began to giggle. “Oh, Crowley, look at yourself. You’ve got glitter all down your front.”

Crowley glared down at himself in consternation. His black clothes had certainly taken on a rather dazzling effect. “Oh, fantastic,” he fumed, swiping at himself.

“Here, let me, you big silly,” Aziraphale said, batting Crowley’s hands away. “You’ll only make an even worse mess.”

“You can talk,” Crowley protested, grinning. “You’ve even got glitter in your hair.” He ruffled his hands through Aziraphale’s curls, and the angel let out a squawk.

“Crowley, don’t you dare! It will get everywhere.”

Crowley grinned and let out a snarl as he leaped at his friend. Aziraphale shrieked and scuttled away. They chased around the room, swatting at each other as glitter drifted through the air. The cottage filled with their laughter.


	30. The Native Hue of Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I knew I would be able to shove some Shakespeare into this challenge.  
> Shoving Shakespeare into unrelated things is like my main talent, tbh.

Aziraphale was chattering away excitedly on the telephone to Madam Tracy about his plans for tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve party. Crowley grinned as he idly picked flecks of glitter off the couch cushions. He was always amused by listening to Aziraphale and Tracy’s conversations. They really had a surprising number of things in common, despite appearances.

Eventually, Aziraphale hung up the phone and sat down next to Crowley with a happy sigh. “Everyone is coming,” he said, smiling. “Oh, Crowley, I’m so looking forward to this.”

Crowley smiled at him. While he couldn’t honestly say the same himself, it delighted him to see his angel so happy. “Is this the first party you’ve hosted?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I never felt brave enough before. Michael might have found out about it, and you can imagine how they’d have felt about that sort of thing. They’d have thought I’d gone completely native.“

“Mmm.” Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Mass fraternizing. Well, I’m glad to see you’re not worrying about them now.”

“I’ve been considering what you said to me the other night,” Aziraphale told him. “And I’ve decided you’re absolutely right. It’s time to leave all those fears in the past.”

Crowley nodded. “Good for you.”

After a pause, Aziraphale continued. “This is a good time for new beginnings, after all. It will be like a new year’s resolution.” He laughed. “I’ve never made one of those before, either. I suppose I thought I shouldn’t need to better myself. I was supposed to just be better, without any effort. I’m beginning to wonder if I didn’t think entirely too much.”

“And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,” Crowley quoted with a smile.

Aziraphale snuggled into Crowley’s side. “I never thanked you properly for making Hamlet so popular, did I?” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “It was wonderful, the way you managed it.”

Crowley shrugged, trying not to look too pleased. “Ah, it wasn’t so hard. Just a matter of getting people through the door, really. Shakespeare’s words did the rest.”

He went back to the previous subject. “So, two resolutions for you: No fearing Heaven, and no overthinking.”

“It sounds like an excellent way to begin a new year,” Aziraphale said with a satisfied nod. “What about you? Do you have any resolutions?”

“Ahh, not really my thing, resolutions,” Crowley said. “All that self-improvement stuff… why bother you know? I’m already perfect.”

Aziraphale giggled and slapped Crowley’s chest lightly, making him grin. In reality, Crowley knew, his resolution was the same as it had always been: To love Aziraphale and take care of him as well as he was able. Only now it was a happy vow, full of hope and the promise of future joy.


	31. We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This brings us to the end of the Good Omens Holiday Advent challenge. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me to the finish line!

The front room of the cottage in the South Downs buzzed with conversation and laughter. 

Next to the re-decorated pine tree, Sergeant Shadwell had cornered the Akinjides, the new couple from down the street, and was sharing with them the latest news on modern witch-finding, much to their bewilderment. Their daughter Camryn had curled up on the couch after braiding one side of Crowley's hair in a staggery cornrow, and was now fast asleep. 

Madam Tracy and Anathema were deep in conversation about the pros and cons of various methods of divination, while Newt offered advice to Mrs. Johnson on defragmenting her ancient computer.

Aziraphale was flitting from group to group like an excited butterfly, while Crowley, who was leaning against the mantelpiece, watched him with a fond smile.

Sensing his gaze, Aziraphale turned and joined him, leaning over to murmur, "Isn't this wonderful?"

Crowley studied his bright eyes and pink cheeks, and nodded. "Glad you're having fun, angel." He glanced at the clock and stood to attention. "Right, everybody, it's time for the countdown."

"Ten, nine, eight..."

Aziraphale bustled about, making sure everyone's champagne glass was full.

"Seven, six, five..."

Camryn woke up and began bouncing up and down with excitement as they counted.

"Four, three, two..."

Aziraphale rejoined Crowley and squeezed his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"One... Happy New Year!"

Anathema grabbed Newt's face and kissed him. Mr. Akinjide swept his wife into his arms and bent her backward, laughing. Even Shadwell gave Madam Tracy a shy peck. Mrs. Johnson and Camryn cheered and clapped from the couch.

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. "Happy New Year, my dear," he whispered, reaching up and kissing him. His lips were soft, and warm, and full of promises.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?" Mrs. Johnson began singing in a quavery voice. Gradually, the others joined her.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne?"

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist, and Crowley draped one arm across his shoulders. They gazed around the room at their friends, old and new; those who remembered the events of the past year and those who had forgotten.

"For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne..."

The angel's eyes met the demon's, and they smiled as they sang. They smiled for their memories of the old long since, and they smiled for the memories the coming year would bring. They smiled for the lives of the humans they loved, and they smiled for the earth.

"We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne..."


End file.
